The Burdens of Fairy Tales
by jennekakale
Summary: Wendy Darling has grown up and grown past Neverland. She's an example of society's woman, awaiting marriage to a man who is, himself, an example. Little did Wendy expect to go back to Neverland because of a little blue Forget-Me-Not.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** : I obviously own nothing.

 **Summary** : Wendy Darling has grown up and grown past Neverland. She's an example of society's woman, awaiting marriage to a man who is, himself, an example. Little did Wendy expect to go back to Neverland because of a little blue Forget-Me-Not.

* * *

"I can't believe this!" The girl, now a woman of eighteen years, shook with tears as the boy before her laid out the truth. This girl paced back and forth while the boy watched his feet shuffle, a guilty look upon his face. "How could you keep this from me?" The girl stopped long enough to glance at the boy for more than a fleeting second. "Peter?"

This boy, who was covered in leaves and twigs, whose hair stuck up at odd ends, and whose face the girl had not seen change since she first met him six years previously, looked up from his feet, to her. He worried his lip, seemingly pouting to garner sympathy from the girl. The girl gave him nothing, and in fact, her own lips pursed in impatience. The boy huffed after only a few seconds, unable to hold his constitution for long, and he did not do so often. Peter Pan was far more impatient than any girl, and surely the boy thought this to be quite an achievement.

"Well?" Hands fell upon hips. Uh oh. Her comes mother, Peter thought anxiously. He did not want to deal with the mother. He had become so utterly bored of mother, why, he ought to banish it! Yes, as Peter was thinking of plans on banishing the boorish mother, the girl called his name in harsh exasperation, expecting him to answer.

Peter flinched away from his thoughts, forgetting them in an instant. His petulant answer, thus, "Why does it matter, Wendy! You were happy before I told you, can't you just be happy now?" He flailed his arms around, expecting her to see the ridiculousness of her behavior.

Wendy, as the girl was called, grew tense, but did not reply. Her shoulders drew tighter, drawing closer, closer in, as if to shield her breaking heart. How could she have been so blind? She was known for her sense, even if she was fanciful in spinning tales. Wendy was the type of girl to act properly, and with a great deal of rationality. She was not one to ignore tell-tale signs of something so utterly remiss as what Peter had just told her. And yet, she had. She had turned her head at just the right moments, ignorance reigning willfully in her mind, as if her subconscious was working to protect her from the dangers.

Growing up never seemed more terrible than in that very moment.

Wendy let a soft sigh escape her in long, stalled manner. What had she to say to someone who did not – could not understand? There was nothing to say. "Peter… just go. I don't think I could ever stand to look upon you again. Please…" Wendy's voice broke and she looked away from the boy she had fallen in love with so long ago, tears falling from her eyes.

"Go? Wendy, y-you can't mean that!" His voice was full of panic as Wendy steadily walked to the nursery's door. "Wendy! Don't leave!"

Wendy could hear the tears in his voice. She knew that if she turned around and saw the look of innocence, no matter how put on it was, she would cave in and beg him take back what he'd said. And he would; Peter would laugh and say, that of course, he was only kidding. Why would he be serious? He's Peter Pan! He is anything but serious.

But this matter… was serious. It was unnatural for the likes of Peter, yet, not false.

Wendy felt a hand grasp her own, and jolted hard. "Leave! Just leave Peter!" Wendy cried out desperately, refusing to look at his face. She could not stand to see it. She would not see heartbreak, but petulance and annoyance. She could not stand to see herself be nothing but a bother to her beloved.

The hand let go, flinchingly. The patter of feet, slowly backing away and the hitch in the boy's breath were the only sounds in the room, along with Wendy's heaving breaths and sobs. Wendy knew this was the last time she would see him.

No more, would there be trips to the brilliant realm of Neverland, stories of dashing heroism against crooked pirates, or flights by pixie dust. No more, would she be a child. But her lost childhood had once been a veil; a veil ripped from her eyes only moments previously. How could she have been so, so blind?

"I hate you! You were always boring anyways!" Peter's voice threw a twisting arrow of hatred to her heart and she gasped. She had reached the door, but at his words, she felt against it, catching the handle and clutching it tightly for balance. Her heart _ached_ at such hatred. The windows were thrown open, and a gust of wind was all that was left of the boy she had loved.

She turned quickly, to catch even a glimpse of fading pixie dust, but saw nothing. Wendy's knees felt weak as she rushed to the balcony, grasping the railing and looking to the sky with straining eyes. Minutes pass, and there was still nothing for her eyes. Wendy swallowed the stubborn lump that had formed in her throat, looking down to the flowers placed on the nursery's balcony. White daisies moved ever so gently in the breeze, seeming to exemplify a never-aging boy that had just left her. The flowers had never looked so wrong in all her life, until that very moment.

How could she have been so blind?

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 **A/N** : I have posted this onto AO3 as well.

This story is not complete, so updates will be as I finish a chapter, or rather maybe, a part. I intend to have at least 3 parts, with several chapters to each.

I'm doing quite a bit of research into Edwardian Society, and my, is it fascinating! The S bend corsets alone seem absurdly interesting, but unfortunately, will not be making an appearance in this story. No, if a corset were to make an appearance in this story, that would be the Long Line corset. It was a rather newer design around 1908. I don't see Wendy being particularly fond of corsets, so they just might make a little cameo. In later chapters, try to think of the women of London wearing clothing similar to the women that rode the ill-fated Titanic.

Daisies represent innocence, according to AboutFlowers.


	2. Part 1: Bloomsbury Flowers: Chapter One

**Disclaimer** : I obviously own nothing. This is un-beta'd.

 **Summary** : Wendy Darling has grown up and grown past Neverland. She's an example of society's woman, awaiting marriage to a man who is, himself, an example. Little did Wendy expect to go back to Neverland because of a little blue Forget-Me-Not.

 **Response to Reviews**

 _Usualguest_ : That's the driving point of the plot, now isn't it? ;-} Thank you for your review! It was highly encouraging, and made me do a funny little jig. And I agree, Peter's response definitely was harsh. But, such is the way of children, especially guilty children.

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 _ **Part One: Bloomsbury Flowers - Chapter One**_

Wendy Moira Angela Darling, a woman of class and high standing, dreamed. She dreamed in the brilliant shades of a blue that haunted her all the years since her first trip to Neverland. Wendy dreamed of the dusky tones of an orange and gold sunset that could scarcely be looked upon, lest one be blinded. She dreamed of dark screams filled with madness and anguish, and so agonized were they, that Wendy quite often woke up from them. Long before the sun of her own dreary world rose, Wendy would gasp with the ringing of fading pleas in her ears.

But during the hours of the day, Wendy Darling daydreamed, which was far more pleasant. Still, she dreamt up tales of swaggering gentlemen and adventurous ladies, and hunts for treasure. Oftentimes, the ladies became the central heroes in her untold tales. They'd have heart, bravery, and a touch of innocence to drive them on quests, battles, and victories. And if quite a few of them had a name that started with a 'W,' well… that was just coincidence really. Wendy never found herself in these women so much as she wished that she were one of them. She longed for such freedom.

The society of London was quick to squash such desires, and Wendy had quickly grown to hold her tongue toward most, should she be its next bug to stomp. The desire to be a novelist was one that was for men, young or old, that had something to say, but even still, was not something entirely respectable. Fanciful tales spun by women would be considered abominable almost. For though women had been published repeatedly, they were either not alive, or not one that much of society wanted to acknowledge as anything more than potential spinsters. In polite society, it was respectable for women to put away childish dreams, take steps towards marriage, and eventually, raise a brood of their own.

Wendy Darling was going to be one such woman. These thoughts sickened her, but it was a dull ache, worn by time. At twenty one years of age, Wendy was grown up, matured, and ready for marriage. And yet… She still longed for adventure, even if the thoughts of such occurrences were no longer untainted.

These thoughts were running through her head during one autumn day, while writing a letter to one of her brothers. John had just started college that year, writing often about his daily excitements and learnings. For all of his previous infatuation with banking, John had decided to pursue law instead, hoping it to be more lucrative and satisfying. Wendy never wrote him tales of pirates anymore, as he had quite forgotten Neverland, but she did not mind so much. It just meant that it was one less thing for her brother to chastise her over. Wendy wrote about her day to day incidents, along with interesting bits from the newspaper she'd read. There was little else to say beyond that. Not her worries, for they'd be brushed off, nor her secret dreams, for they'd be scoffed at. John, while kind and caring, was very much one to fit into the roles society hands out.

The scratching was the only sound in her room, interspersed with long moments of silence and soft sighs as Wendy would stare at her wall, unseeing, with heavy thoughts. It was not too far into the letter, only a page, when the stomps of an excited youth came closer to her door, a quick knock on the door, and then a, "Wendy?"

"Come in, Michael." Wendy called out with a smile. Michael's visits were rather the highlight of her day. Michael had forgotten Neverland as well, but still enjoyed talking about wild stories.

The door flew open, but not harshly, and in stepped the dark blonde boy with a rosy-cheeked smile upon his face.

"Wendy! You wouldn't believe just what happened today," Michael's excitement was palpable and Wendy's smile grew fonder.

Chuckling, Wendy replied, "Well, how am I supposed to disbelieve what happened if you don't tell me? I could believe anything at this exact moment, and unless you tell me, it shall all be true."

Michael had just flopped across her bed when his head rose up, a quizzical stare directed at his sister, and said, confused, "What?"

Wendy shook her head, "Go on Michael. What happened today?"

Michael rolled around on her bed until he was closer to Wendy sitting at her desk. Smiling at her, he said, "Mr. Johnson lost his wig in wind today and had to chase it down the street!"

Wendy arched a brow at him, her fingers tucking strands of her light brown hair behind her ear and said, "Oh, and I don't suppose you had a hand in helping the wind steal this wig?" A sly smile upon her face as Michael bit his lips to keep from laughing.

"Maybe…" He said, letting a few giggles escape.

"Oh, Michael! You should know better," Wendy chastised lightly and without any real effort. She added, "But I shan't tell Aunt Millicent if…" The sly smile grew even slyer as she watched her brother's eyes widen a bit.

"If what? What'd you want?" He said almost desperately.

"If you'll listen to a story," Wendy sat back in her chair, knowing that Michael would agree instantly.

"Agreed!" Michael said immediately, a grin upon his face as he sat closer to her for a story. Fortunately, Michael had yet to reach an age where stories were too childish to listen to, and Wendy felt happily obliged to tell as many of them as she could, even if she had stopped writing them down some years previously.

Wendy clasped her hands together in her own excitement. "Okay, have I told you the tale of a king that was fooled by his jester into giving him half the kingdom?"

"No!"

"Well then. This king was considered by his people to be a staunch and unforgiving ruler who…"

As Wendy told her story to her brother, she became more animated and less cultured in her speech. One story turned into two, and then three, and eventually the sky outside her window grew darker and darker until it was close to dinnertime. Michael was thoroughly enthralled in her words and often added his own bits to the tales, leading Wendy in new directions. The stories ended for the day when they were called for dinner. Wendy asked her brother, once more, to keep the stories between them, because Aunt Millicent would only scold them. Downstairs they went, and Wendy put on her mask of propriety once again.

* * *

The next few days followed a similar routine, but held an anxiousness to it, because of a certain piece of news that had arrived the evening she had let loose her story teller tongue. Wendy's fiancé was coming to visit.

Edward Dosett was a perfect gentleman, and society's ideal man. At least, that was what everyone thought he was. Wendy knew differently.

She remembered the day she met him, sometime after her eighteenth birthday… and the last confrontation with Peter. She had been morose and quieter than normal, giving short answers to questions asked of her.

The day she met Edward Dosett was a Sunday morning; she, her mother, and Aunt Millicent were strolling out of church when a young girl had run out, laughing and carrying on, and straight into Wendy's side, knocking her to the ground.

Wendy had let out an un-ladylike grunt of pain as she hit the pavement of the sidewalk, and again when the girl toppled onto her stomach. The wind was knocked out of her, which prevented her from saying anything, while a gasp resounded quite dramatically from the culprit herself.

"I'm so sorry ma'am! I didn't mean to," The girl looked up at Wendy under her mass of reddish curls, wide eyes full of panic.

Wendy blinked hard at the girl's young face, but smiled kindly nonetheless. "It's alright, just be careful next time, yes?"

The girl nodded shyly, while Wendy sat up. She held the girl under her arms, lifting her up to stand while Wendy herself stood. Aunt Millicent fussed over Wendy while her mother hung back, a small smile hidden behind her hand.

"Young ladies should not be running around! It is unbecoming," said Aunt Millicent, who was fixing Wendy's stray hairs and glaring at the little girl. The girl's lip wobbled, as she looked down, ashamed.

Wendy jerked back only slightly at her Aunt's harsh tone, and said, "She's not done any harm, really. And she already apologized."

Aunt Millicent gave Wendy a droll stare and seemed about to retort something when quick footsteps came closer towards them and a handsome voice sounded.

"Edna, there you are! Silly goose, you about worried mum and I."

"Wendy turned around sharply, only to gaze upon a smartly dressed man whose light brown eyes were looking to, presumably, his little sister. Wendy's breath caught in her throat, seemingly taken with him in an instant.

Edna went to her brother's side, careful to give a wide berth around Aunt Millicent, and hid behind his legs. Her eyes, the exact shade as her brother's, stared widely at Wendy while she spoke pleadingly, "I didn't mean to, it was an accident!"

The gentleman furrowed his brows as he looked between his sister and Wendy, asking, "What do you mean Edna? What did you do?"

Wendy opened her mouth to speak, but Aunt Millicent's cross voice spoke over her attempt.

"She toppled over my niece quite rudely! Really, little girls should know better."

Wendy's lips pursed in irritation, giving her aunt a sharp glance. "Aunt Millicent, I'm fine, it was just an accident." Wendy shyly glanced to Edna's brother, and spoke to him, "I remember being as rambunctious at that age." A smile grew slightly on her face.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it with this one." He teased, ruffling his sister's bouncy hair.

"Eddy! Stop it!" Edna swatted her hands around her head, but her brother dodged them nimbly, laughing all the while.

Wendy's mother seemed to float forth and she said, "Oh, I would say that Wendy was just the same. Her imagination was a thing to behold." She glanced to Wendy sweetly, and added, "And where is your mother mister…?"

Eddy, as Edna had called him, blinked and replied immediately, "Oh, Edward Dosett, ma'am. Pleased to meet you all."

Wendy mouthed his name, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. _He's just handsome_ … Her thoughts were quickly taken by the bright eyed young man with sweet grin.

Edward and Edna's mother had come forth then, and easy conversation ensued, with praises for Edward's behavior and accomplishments accounting for most of it. Dinner was proposed by Aunt Millicent, and Wendy knew that she had seen an opportunity for matchmaking. Wendy, for all her aunt's previous attempts, did not mind so much this time.

Wendy decided, several years later, that she would, if she could, go back in time and beg herself dismiss this attempt, for Edward Dosett was no gentleman at all.

* * *

 **A/N** :

\- The prologue was set in 1910, on Wendy's birthday. Should have mentioned that IN the prologue, but oh well. When I go back to edit it, I'll add it in there.

\- The rest of the story is set in 1913, which is the year before World War 1 starts. The Edwardian Era officially ends in 1910 with the death of King Edward VII, but most tend to include the four years after that as part of the era because society didn't change much. It came to a real end when WWI started, in 1914.

\- I place John's current age at around 17/18 and Michael's at 13/14. Wendy is 21, as of the beginning of this chapter.

\- Cheryl Cole once had this light brown hair color, and it is the exact shade that I imagine Wendy's hair to be. It's a beautiful color.

\- Dosett was a surname created sometime in the Victorian Era. I quite like the sound of it.

I know that this is a slow start. My original intention was write long chapters, but I figured that I would never get anything done if I stuck to that. So I'll be writing shorter chapters, which, I hope, will help my posting more often. But I will not lie and say that posting new chapters will be frequent. I'm going to college, and each semester's load is very heavy. I have a number of essays to write (I'm an English Major - what a surprise) and most of my time tends to be devoted to school. But, I do intend to post when I can. At this point, I have a vague plot, and only the First Part of the story planned out. I'm a bit of a slow writer too, so I apologize.

I thank all of you for reading, for adding this story to your alerts, and any future reviews you guys make! It's very much appreciated.


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